Yesterday's Hymn
by euphorbic
Summary: Wherein Spike continues to not think about consequences, Julia ponders smoking paraphernalia and the people who own and borrow such, and Vicious begins to see the forest despite the trees. Three parts and one omake.
1. Yesterday's Hymn

[Disclaimer: Cowboy Bebop was created by, and is copyrighted by Yadate Hajime in association with the legal entities Sunrise and Bandai. The characters are used without permission but no material profit of any kind is being made from the following work. Sunrise and Bandai reserve all rights to Cowboy Bebop material, but all of the situations unique to this work of fan fiction are property of the writer.  Bang.  Hiss.  Vroom…?]

[Note:  Takes place before 'Triangulation' and directly after 'Dog with Sharper Teeth'.  Another Bebop fic fueled by my Katie-Jane Garside obsession.]

* * *

Yesterday's Hymn

For a change, the bar's door was not only opened for someone else, but by a woman for two men.  They were an odd assortment, this trio.  The woman was an angelic beauty, so lovely that she was almost a caricature of herself.  The two men were equally noteworthy but for their state of dress, rather than attractiveness.  Covered in dirt and dry sweat, with rumpled filthy clothes, they didn't seem to belong with the woman.  

One of the men glared straight ahead from under a thatch of pale hair, while the other's mop of messy locks seemed to do everything but obscure the one amused ruddy brown eye that wasn't nearly swollen shut.  It was hard to say when they'd participated in the fight: they didn't carry its aura, but they wore its marks.

They didn't look like they could command any sort of respect in the shape they were in, but most of the weathered toughs in the room nodded gravely at the trio's entrance.  It was clear to the yet unaligned hooligans in the room that high-ranking members of the area's vital Dragon syndicate had just made a noteworthy but less than grand entrance.

Julia led the two far back into their regular bar to one of the dark booths with an equally dim hanging lamp.  Wordlessly, she slid into the red vinyl seat facing the door.  Despite hating to put his back to the door, Spike collapsed fully into the seat across from her.

It was a variation on their familiar seating arrangement, which was dictated by the complexities of the trio's relationships. Vicious, being both the least compromising and most paranoid of the group, always claimed a seat facing the front door. Julia, as Vicious' girlfriend, sat next to him. That meant Spike usually had an unenviable view of the kitchens or back wall and something to complain about. 

There had been a moment a few days prior when Vicious commented that the more deadly gunmen came from the kitchens.  Spike had snorted that the most deadly gunmen sat across from you. Vicious had smirked his familiar malevolent expression, nodded, and agreed verbally while staring at him pointedly.  Then he'd glanced swiftly to his side. Spike didn't dissect the double-edged response at the time, but since noticing new dimensions to Julia's sapphire eyes he'd found the incident looping through his idle moments.

Tao of Seating aside, Vicious slid into his usual position, seeming to give no heed to Spike's altered position: more across from Julia than himself.  Considering the chemicals that had played in his veins and the recent work out he and Spike had labored under, it was safe to assume Vicious wasn't concerning himself beyond the mostly familiar trappings of the seating arrangement. Spike was too tired, but no longer too drunk, to care himself.  He kicked himself for being so paranoid; it wasn't his way.

Julia gave no indication what she noticed one way or the other. She fished one hand in the crumpled jacket Vicious had dropped between them and held the other out to Spike in a feminine motion that belied the calluses on her hands.

He sat up somewhat from his slouch and handed her his classic Zippo without thinking.  Julia withdrew the metal case Vicious kept his cigarettes in, preventing them from becoming as completely mangled as Spike's habitually were. 

Julia considered the two objects in her hands and the relationships to the their owners' characters. She'd learned right away that while Spike was happy to bum cigarettes, few people actually earnestly asked to score any of his due to their dubious quality and condition. A light was much Spike's speed. Vicious, on the other hand, always had high quality cigarettes only she and Spike ever troubled him over. Spike only offered his to the introverted man, probably because Vicious seldom accepted them.

It was interesting, she decided while opening the case and slipping one of the paper cylinders out and between her full lips; Vicious seemed to load everything like a gun.  Cigarettes included.  Before she could close the case or light the one in her mouth, Spike's filthy hand was stealing two more from the stainless, yet dented, case.  He settled one behind his ear and stuck the other at a jaunty angle from his dry lips. 

"Light me."

Blue eyes settled on the mischievous face across from her.  The dirt dusting his nose and smeared across his forehead only added to his charm.  Spike was exactly the type to get away with murder with his charm as an alibi.  Which was why she lit her cigarette and snapped the lighter shut.  She could afford to play; Vicious seemed to be in a chemical hangover induced coma.

The beginnings of a catty exchanges came up to provide Vicious' hangover an annoying backdrop, but was nipped in the bud by the appearance of a matched set of young me with pool cues.  The only way to tell them apart was the concern one wore and the questions on the other boy's lips.

Shin was quick with his question, excitement sparkling in his tone.  The three assumed it was Shin, anyway, as he was more to the point than his brother.  "What happened to you?"

Spike lifted his free hand across his face, smearing the dirt into splotch vaguely resembling pre-disaster Antarctica.  "Vicious can't tell the difference between an oil plug and a transmission cap."  Spike was shameless.

Vicious ignored the barb.  He looked up through his pale hair at an on-coming waitress equipped with a pad of paper.  Before she arrived he held three fingers up at shoulder height.  Stooping in her tracks, the woman nodded and turned back the way she came.  If he'd even noticed the twins, he gave no indication, but no one doubted for a second that he had.

"Spike decided to pick a fight with a bunch of locals."  Julia was merciless, the look she turned on Spike was just short of murder.  Vicious was beginning to come around.  She didn't know anymore: was Spike being careless or was she living in fear of growing attraction?

Lin seemed mildly torn between fetching them a first aid kit and hand towels.  "A fist fight?  There's so much dirt...!"

            Turning her attention to the warmer half of the twins, Julia reached across the still quiet Vicious and patted the worried boy's hand.  "We don't look good, do we?"  She smiled distantly and stood up, apologizing faintly to Vicious as she stepped over his knees to gain the floor.  "Don't worry, Lin, most of the dirt is from the road; they had to push my car to a service station."  

Julia headed to the bathroom as the twins choked on the image of Spike and Vicious, sweating under the sweltering sun and dirt, pushing a sabotaged version of Julia's normally intimidating red monster.

"You're joking," Shin sputtered, while Lin looked uncomfortably between Vicious and Spike.

"I wish," Spike snorted, shooting a disapproving glance at Julia's back: Vicious was proving utterly unresponsive.  "Ever notice the lack of service stations in our territory?"

The boys shook their heads no with mounting incredulity.

"Me, either."  Spike sighed, extending one of his pilfered cigarettes to Shin.  The younger man took the cigarette in his thin fingers, though he wasn't intent on smoking anything he got from Spike.  Still, not wanting to risk being disrespectful in front of Vicious, he held it between his lips and lit it.  "That's my last one, by the way."

Shin glowered slightly at the obvious hint, but instead of reminding his superior that he hadn't actually asked for the cigarette, he reached into one of his pockets and withdrew his own pack.  He hesitated a moment when he realized the cigarette he was smoking was actually far better than Spike usually carried.  His mouth opened to comment on the strangeness of the situation only to notice the silver cigarette case near Vicious' hand.  He swallowed lightly and handed the pack to Spike.  "Keep it."

The sly grin he received for his trouble proved the outcome of the exchange had worked out exactly as Spike had intended.  "Good man.  I won't forget this the next time I have to fill out a progress report on your performance."

The younger boy resumed his glower.  "You don't do that."

The reply didn't phase Spike in the least.  "True," he smiled dismissively, glancing meaningfully at his uncommunicative partner, "but I know who does."

"How far did you push the car?"  Lin asked, ignoring his brother's attempts to not choke on a lungful of smoke.  He kept stealing glances at Vicious for any indication of denial, but searching the lean man's impassive face as he stared past Spike only convinced the young man all the more.  Vicious was only unkempt in public on the way back from messy altercations.

"Just down the street to the garage Annie's uncle runs," Spike replied, folding his arms behind his head.  "Don't think the man's on the Dragon payroll, but it shouldn't hurt to give him a bit of business, especially since Julia's so picky about that beast."

As if Spike had suddenly spoken the magic word, Vicious finally came out of his trance, snapping his wintery gaze on his partner.  The other three men jumped slightly at the sudden reaction, but Vicious turned his head just as quickly to focus his attention on the returning waitress and the three glasses she bore.  With slow grace, he withdrew a cigarette from his case and picked up Spike's Zippo.  He lit up as she slid three paper coasters on the table and followed them up with drinks.  Spike and Julia's beers, and Vicious' whiskey: the usual suspects.  

            "Shin.  Lin."  He finally murmured tonelessly. "Take a walk."

            Startled by the command after his long silence and intimidated by his attitude, the two bowed sketchily and retreated behind the business-like waitress.  Lin kept looking over his shoulder as if to apologize for his inquisitiveness, but Spike waved him off with a warm smile.  He turned back to his partner and sighed deeply.  Vicious could be such a cold bastard, no wonder the Van called him a snake.

"You don't _have_ to be as cold as a snake," Spike accused quietly when the two were sufficiently far away and his partner had sucked a deep breath on his cigarette.  He stared at the pack of cigarettes Shin had passed him before giving Vicious the same benefit of his mahogany gaze. 

"A snake only sees heat," Vicious murmured through a mouthful of smoke.  "If he should warm up, perhaps he will become blind with his own heat."

The answer was everything Spike didn't want to hear.  He struggled for a reply that didn't reveal more than he felt.  "And then he'll bite everything, including himself?"

Cold eyes, set in a pale face, flicked from the amber liquid in one slender hand.  The man's colorless lips did not move to make a reply, but Spike could tell Vicious was considering something.  The unreadable eyes didn't need to look one way or the other.  Spike knew.

"Ever have a pet?"

Spike's eyebrow quirked.  The level stare did not change, leaving Spike no choice but to assume Vicious was asking a serious question.

"Sure," he finally commented, pulling out another cigarette and lighting it off the previous.  "So?"

Vicious lifted the whiskey to his lips, sipping slowly, but never taking his eyes off his partner.  He replaced the glass on the table with casual purpose.  "You never actually saw it get bigger because you were together the whole time.  You only knew it grew, because you remember what it first looked like in the beginning.  But one day, you find you can't pick it up anymore, it's too big."

From Vicious, the observation carried the weight and tone of a sermon.  Vicious had always been somber, only seeming to live in the heat of battle, like it was the only thing to warm his cold blood.  Still, in the last couple of weeks, the small amount of warmth he'd allowed his partner seemed to be dropping back to the absolute zero from when they first met.  

The content of his message had a particular meaning for Spike, but figuring out what situation it was being applied to wasn't easy.  Could it be Vicious was applying it to him?  Was he too big to carry?  Or was it just that he was becoming hard to control?  He wished it meant that Vicious' emotions were growing, but it was anything of the nature.

A strong suck on the cigarette filled Spike's lungs full of smoke.  When he replied, his words were almost lost in the haze.  Only his partner would be able to hear the resigned note, even if he wouldn't know what it was.

"Which is worse?  The dog that gets too big to carry or the man who didn't notice?"

The corners of Vicious' eyes wrinkled slightly, but the thinning of his lips was hardly much of a smile.  Maybe it would have been several months earlier.  "They both carry their own burden.  They'll both suffer for it."

Spike rolled his eyes, "Now you're just being a prick.  The dog can't help getting bigger."

Vicious' pseudo smile stretched a bit more.  "It isn't fair?"

Brown eyes flashed at the unsaid challenge.  "No, Vicious, it isn't.  Maybe the man should have gotten a terrier."

"He'd be better off without a dog," Vicious returned soberly, "one never knows when it might bite the hand that feeds it."


	2. Friday's Child

[Disclaimer: Cowboy Bebop was created by, and is copyrighted by Yadate Hajime in association with the legal entities Sunrise and Bandai. The characters are used without permission but no material profit of any kind is being made from the following work. Sunrise and Bandai reserve all rights to Cowboy Bebop material, but all of the situations unique to this work of fan fiction are property of the writer.  Bang.  Hiss.  Vroom…?]

[Author Note: The fic is rated for violence, foul language, and other unsavory things.  Not actually a very good chapter thanks to my waning interest.  Once again, this fic goes within the continuity of my other Bebop fics, which, I think, can be read in any order since they were written out of order, though reading 'Dog with Sharper Teeth' first might be for the best.]

* * *

Friday's Child

The conversation was as unpleasant as any he'd had with his partner.  Spike didn't know what it was about, but he heavily suspected it had something to do with the hands of the Van becoming increasingly generous to him and much less so to Vicious.

"This is stupid," he said, shaking his fluffy head, "let's forget it."  He missed, more than anything, earlier days when he never thought twice about what he said to his partner.  When they fought back-to-back; them against the world.  

"What are we forgetting?"  Julia's voice, soft and low heralded her return.  She looked far better, if a bit cold in the white tank top that had been perfect for the afternoon heat.  Better than that, when she stepped over Vicious' knees to claim her seat, she did so with her back to Spike.  For an instant, it was utterly safe to let his eyes sweep over the curves of her backside.

Looking at his partner's girlfriend, Spike ignored the most sensible thought he'd had that day.  _It isn't possible to fight back-to-back when there are more than two backs._

"About getting a dog," Spike shrugged dismissively.  He still wasn't sure what the conversation had really been about.  The unpleasant tone it wore required more thought than he wanted to put into it.  He wrote it off to all the junk they'd polluted their bodies with recently and lifted his beer.  Time for a little hair of a different dog, he mused, taking a long pull.

The exasperated expression on Julia's face made it obvious she didn't believe Spike.  Thankfully, she didn't push the issue.  She didn't have time to.

With no warning, the windows shattered inward in a roaring inferno of glass razor blades.  Had Spike more time before sliding to the sticky floor under the table, he might have admired the reflection of the orange fire shimmering across the cloud of broken glass.  Seconds after the explosion he was lost in a knot of arms, legs, and guns as he and Julia collided.  The only sense they could make for several moments were Vicious' legs, which were upright in the chaos of their collision.  In the mood he'd been it was little wonder his guns were already out and looking for death.

There wasn't time to spare, but Spike and Julia noticed each other in the clutter of limbs under the cover of Vicious' reflexive retaliation.  Hot shells fell around them even as the glass from the windows rebounded from the floor in a parody of hot sleet.  It was surreal and beautiful and not the first time their eyes met; like the sky noticing the earth again and wondering what kept them apart.

A burning shell, a murderous cast off, flew down from the blooming concussions of Vicious' continued onslaught.  It rang out against the floor, audible only in their minds as they shared a moment of insight.  Blue and brown eyes rose up from the shell and simultaneously fixed on the cold man sheltering them where before there had been a table.  In the same instant Vicious' left gun jammed and his right ran out of bullets for the second time that day.

Like well-oiled pistons, Julia and Spike threw themselves up as Vicious ducked down to reload.  The two slammed into the table they hadn't noticed Vicious upturn as a further barrier to reinforce the line of booths before them.  They found their targets taking cover beside the windows and doors, right outside on the sidewalk.

From the corner of his eye, Spike registered the bar's occupants and how they were making use of the layout.  The billiard tables were mostly up turned; Shin and Lin were taking turns shooting around the edges of a blackened table they'd staked out after Vicious had turned them away.  To better their footing, Lin occasionally kicked a nearby ball to the side, while never actually taking his eyes off the front door.  Spike felt a tinge of pride in the way the pair made use of their training.  The absent way Lin cleared the footing reminded him momentarily of his own cramped situation.

He never lost his focus on the front of the building as he analyzed his shooting situation.  It was anything but favorable with three people occupying a space meant to hold four as long as they were sitting two across.  Vicious seemed to want to do something about it, too, for he felt the man slide to one side without coming up to shoot.  He hoped his friend didn't have anything in mind that involved getting shot to hell like the skyscraper fiasco.  Vicious had almost died on that one.

"Covering fire," Spike commented to Julia, reading his partner's movements.  She wasn't the greatest shot between them, but she synched well.  Her true strength and greatest utility lay in her driving skills; they were utterly unsurpassed.  Squeezing off well-placed rounds was more her gun style.  She used fewer bullets and her accuracy was commendable, if slow.

There was an envious twinge in Spike's mind as he felt Vicious unsheathe himself from the close confines of the booth and swing out through a lag in the gunfire.  He liked the idea of dancing with the bullets in a bitter haze of inevitable death.  Except, being close to Julia led him to wonder, as she ducked to reload and he squeezed off several more shots, if the dead end street he traveled didn't have an outlet after all.  Sometimes she was a pool of melancholic calm that led him to dream of a future.

It wasn't like her to fumble with her clip, but slamming the rectangular bullet container home took her a second try.  She had noticed Vicious head out from Shin and Lin's billiard table and vault headlong into the kitchens through the pick up window.  It meant she and Spike would continue to be intimately engaged in slaughtering people out front while Vicious used the employee entrance to stage a flanking assault.

Intimately engaged.  She shot up and selected her target, taking over the left window and the three assailants clustered there.  They were remarkably sloppy.  Two of her targets had been hit, and even though they weren't seriously wounded they kept shooting wildly.  It took her a moment to realize their shooting was thanks to the bright streetlamps outside.  It was just barely brighter outside than in, making the bar's occupants more difficult to see.  

Bloody amateurs, she could see _them_ fine in the streetlight.  If they'd shot out the lamp above them, they'd have taken a significant advantage.  A breath sucked in between white teeth.  "Next time we're drunk and Vicious decides to work on my car when it doesn't need it..."

Spike laughed as he shot, as was typical of him.  "Don't let him?"

"Don't turn on the radio so loud."

He didn't risk a questioning glance,only humored her with a simple, "Why's that?"

"I'm sick of these people."

Brown eyes squinted for confirmation.  Sure enough, Spike smirked, it was the group from earlier in the day.  He'd beat the hell out of them (he liked to think) and Vicious had shot a lot of their legs out from underneath them.  Perhaps the lot had actually been in a syndicate?  If the elders found out about the triggering incident, there would be trouble.  They'd hear about it no matter what, but the more random it looked, the better.  Of course, random was defined by a hit-and-run, not a full on assault.  

White teeth absently gnawed on his lower lip.  He knew he could get out of trouble with his smooth style and easy wit, but Vicious' pride would have the Van all over him.  Concern further fueled his arm and aim; the last thing Vicious needed in his mysteriously shitty mood was the elders' idea of a spanking.  Ending the fight as quickly as possible was better for his partner and for he and Julia since they had to put up with the syndicate's most aptly named member.

Vicious bolted out of the alley entrance, sword preceding him in wide swaths.  Nobody was there to meet him and thus be cleaved in half.  He sneered slightly at the amateurism he was being subjected to and ran down the alley to the popping sounds emanating from the front of the building.  He didn't stop when he reached the mouth of the alley: running straight out would be the last thing the morons would expect.

On his way out, he found them crouched around the brick storefront's windowpanes and gaping doorway with the exception of the one responsible for the first attack.  The man with the grenade launcher was frantically trying to reload his antique but was hampered by bloody fingers.  

Right-handed gun in his left hand, he swept forth, shooting two of the three assailants covering the middle window, ignoring the shells he was ejecting into his own path.  If he knew Spike, the middle targets were Spike's and freeing him up was foremost on his mind.  Second on his mind was the fumbling grenade launcher operator.  

His trademark sword traced a deadly arc as he passed the man and dove for the cover of a car even as the man's head hit the asphalt behind him.  He didn't notice the explosive gush of blood from the body's powerful heart muscles.  By the time the body realized it was dead, there was only a flood of pouring blood to see.

The lull in gunfire from their opposition alerted Spike immediately to his partner's presence.  He quit his position the instant his targets fell away, charging in a weaving suicide dance for the front of the bar.  Behind him Shin and Lin laid down excellent covering fire while Julia took advantage of the confusion to blast one of their opponents in the head.

The climax of the gunfight had been reached.  It took little effort from there to route and shoot down the rest of their attackers.  Spike and Vicious concentrated on shooting and cutting down the ones trying to flee while Julia walked behind them indicating survivors to Shin for immediate execution.  Meanwhile Lin was on a phone arranging a pick up, police sirens lending his voice the desired urgency.

When there were no more victims in range, Vicious and Spike headed back to the group.  Their steps were quick, fueled by the sirens rapidly approaching the scene.  They didn't have much time, but Spike started to sketch an outline to save them from maximum elder punishment.  "We didn't push Julia's car to a syndicate covered garage, so they don't necessarily know we instigated that fight earlier today."

Vicious' frosty eyes narrowed even more in his already severe face.  He hadn't really seen the men from earlier in the day as he'd been underneath Julia's car.  He couldn't remember anything clearly beyond a failed attempt at blowing Spike's brains out the back of his messy-haired head.  

"You don't think the elders haven't already cracked all the jokes possible from the inevitable reports concerning you and I pushing a car?"

Spike squelched his desire to laugh at the memory of Vicious stoically straining against the chrome bumper, his identifying white hair hanging in bedraggled locks around his sweaty face.  "Of course they haven't," he sighed helpfully.  "They haven't thought of any funny jokes yet."

"No matter who started the fight earlier today," Vicious retorted, nearing the bar's sidewalk where the twins were waiting impatiently, "the elders will pin it on the person they think they have the most to fear from."

His attempt at levity was crushed ruthlessly underfoot, but Spike wouldn't succumb to his partner's nihilism so easily.  "With Julia and I to back you up, that isn't going to happen," he affirmed with conviction.

"Life is cruel and unfair, Spike," Vicious replied smoothly.

"And fate is a fickle bitch," Spike shot back sarcastically.  "Right?"

Content to let his charismatic partner have the last word, Vicious did not reply.  Therefore, it was Spike who asked the obvious question with snappish intensity.

"Where's Julia?"

Lin answered with the immediate obedience his superiors admired in him.  "Getting Shin's car.  There's nobody in the area to pick us up."  

A groan was all Spike could command in response when the flashing lights of the police struck the scene.  Several police cruisers were fishtailing around a corner a few blocks down.  "I hope you gave her the keys, Shin; she's late."

"Like she needs them," Shin snorted, drawing a smirk from Spike and an elbow from his brother.  Vicious made no response other than sheathing his sword; the police were beginning to get too close for even his legendary comfort level.  It had been over a year since he or Spike had served time and with all the trouble they'd been in since then, he wasn't convinced the Van would bother to spring both of them.

True to form, Shin's car came screaming around the corner of the building with less than seconds to spare.  Julia didn't actually stop the car on her approach, merely slowed down enough that only a hard run would see them to the car in time.  

All four men dropped any pretense of conversation and pelted from the sidewalk in an intersecting path for the car.  The run was difficult but not impossible, taking a good grip on the doors and hood in order to swing inside was the real feat.  Spike and Vicious both angled for back seats in order to shoot at their pursuers should it become necessary.  Lin opted for the shotgun seat despite fear of Vicious' wrath, should the man become upset with him for daring sit beside his lady.  

Shin was unfortunate enough to find himself between his superiors in his own back seat when they both opted to break out the rear windshield to ease any attack they might make on their pursuers.  He was still mourning its loss when they careened onto the highway, the blacktopped expanse that was Julia's expertise.  The ringing of his phone was the only thing that distracted him, though only momentarily.

Gun in one hand, he slipped the phone into his other and brought it to the side of his attractive face.  "Make it quick," he shouted, trying to hear himself over car horns, screeching tires, and police sirens.  

The reply erased all thoughts of his car out of his mind.  

"Spike," he yelled over the noise, "phone!  It's Mao."

Behind the wheel, Julia heard the news and grit her teeth.  If Mao was asking for Spike instead of Vicious it would seem they were all about to have one of the worst weekends of their recent existence.  Undermining Vicious' authority as their unofficial leader was the best way to make sure they all suffered.  It was, she found herself admitting, another reason she found her previous vital attraction waning.  A quick glance in the rearview mirror at Spike's calm countenance as he hunched down to talk to Mao revealed the other reason.  Life wasn't fair, fate was a fickle bitch, but Spike Spiegel was neither.  Spike… was something else.  Perhaps he was… warm.


	3. Xing Off the Days

[Disclaimer: Cowboy Bebop was created by, and is copyrighted by Yadate Hajime in association with the legal entities Sunrise and Bandai. The characters are used without permission but no material profit of any kind is being made from the following work. Sunrise and Bandai reserve all rights to Cowboy Bebop material, but all of the situations unique to this work of fan fiction are property of the writer. Bang. Hiss. Vroom…?]

[Note:  Oh, this is bad and it got too Vicious-centric thanks to the strange inspiration I had to finish it.]

* * *

X-ing Off the Days

            The twins weren't called in, but the other three weren't so lucky.  They had received express orders be dropped off at a pick up point as soon as they lost the police.  There were two cars waiting for them, manned by slightly embarrassed-looking Dragon thugs.  Spike had made a big show of joking around with the men, explaining that they'd had car trouble, which wasn't purely untrue.  It had helped save face, until they were split up into the cars and Vicious was directed to ride alone.  Trouble had never been so obvious.

            The ride with Julia was quiet.  Spike could have spent the trip contriving plans to help spring his partner from the maximum amount of Van-inspired punishment.  When Julia did not protest an awkward one-armed hug meant to reassure her, he couldn't find anything to think about other than the feel of her hair against his hand or the play of her shoulder blade against his bicep.  

            When she responded to his gesture with a distant smile and a deeper gaze than he'd ever received from her glacier-blue eyes, Spike finally understood that he was going to do something wrong, but not something he would regret.  He wondered if she understood the same thing.  

They arrived at the office building before it was late, by Syndicate standards, and the group found themselves the subject of a plethora of covert glances as they were lead in.  All three walked as if the thugs escorting them were an impromptu honor guard, even if it was obvious they weren't.  Appearances had to be kept up.

Not a word was exchanged between them when they were led to the waiting room outside Mao's expansive office and asked to wait.  The receptionist absently informed them that Mao would see them when he had taken care of another appointment.  They were resigned to wait.

Spike tried not to care about the phone conversation and the resignation he'd heard in Mao's voice.  It wouldn't have been a problem if Mao didn't hint that Spike was worth more than petty brawls.  It was the older man's sentiment that raked the younger man's conscience; if not for Mao, he might have been dead already.  The same could be said doubly of Vicious.

            His reddish gaze took in his distant partner, standing straight-backed beside the receptionist's desk.  Perhaps Spike could have found a life racing, but Vicious would be dead a hundred different ways if not for Mao.  He had begun to feel that Vicious resented that little known fact.

            Julia was more of a mystery.  Spike didn't know the circumstances of her entry to the Red Dragon and while he was slightly curious, it wasn't something he needed to know.  It was like his friendship with Vicious… or how it had been.  They had had a wordless understanding made up of blood and sinew and back-to-back action that carried on even off the battlefield.  

            An epiphany struck Spike and rolled down his spine with deadly clarity.  Where did the battlefield end?  When he'd first met Vicious, there was never a moment the man didn't expect somebody to walk around a corner with guns blazing.  He'd lived every moment expecting death, just as Spike had.  Neither of them had anything to live for, but death was, at least, an entertaining game to play.  

            He'd thought both of them had found times and places they could leave the battlefield.  When Julia had shown up, it seemed the most concrete evidence.  But lately, even if Vicious had been willing to get sloppy along with them that day, the battlefield seemed to be encroaching on new territory.

            Maybe the problem wasn't so much the battlefield as who owned it?  Spike made the intuitive jump to the problematic conclusion; Vicious was losing territory he thought he owned.  His gaze slipped slowly to the quiet gleam of golden tresses and the terribly beauty made his stomach clench.

            "Spike, Julia," Spike had noticed the door opening, but didn't react right away.  It might have been another mistake; the influence of something outside instinct.  He tore his eyes away and gave Mao a cocky grin, noting sadly the lines around the man's face.  

"I don't need you two right now."  Mao's voice was stern, with an underlying irritation that bespoke his disappointment.  And there was something else there, a sudden flicker of understanding.

Spike was happily immune to the irritation, but looked away, averting his face in respect.  "But we acted together."

            He heard the sigh, the vestiges of frustration the older man hadn't been able to cover.  "Both of you go before I change my mind.  I'll call for you later."

            Spike opened his mouth to protest, but a cold voice preempted him.  "I'm looking forward to our conversation."  Vicious was looking at Spike as he made the statement, even though he was speaking to Mao.  No words, spoken or otherwise, passed between the two men: wordless understandings were gone.  He turned his back and headed into Mao's office.  As if on a last inspiration, he looked over his shoulder and stated cryptically, "Take care of Julia for me."

            The street was wet from a light rain.  He didn't know when it started, but it had ended shortly after he'd arrived at his syndicate-owned apartment.  Vicious appreciated rain; it provided him more than enough reflections to keep track of movements that might not be his own.  For a short space of time, he'd found it vaguely attractive rather than merely _useful_.  It had since lost the romance.  

            He had cleaned up and changed into clean clothes swiftly before heading out again.  The dull pain suffusing his shoulder joints hardly bothered him when he slipped his arms through sleeves.  He'd suffered much worse for less than insulting the Van.  The relative lightness of his punishment coupled with a solo assignment had tipped him off.

His mind was entirely too fast and inclined to expect the worst.  It was the only thing that kept his offensive behavior from quickly ending his life.  The benefit of returning paranoia allowed Vicious to pierce multiple levels of deceptions, facades, and motives.  Life playing house with Spike and Julia had been a dream.  A warm, comfortable, and utterly false dream.  He'd been a fool, a snake blinded by warmth.  

With a silent growl, he cleared the thoughts from his mind.  He didn't have much to do, but in the latest hours of the night he didn't expect it to be easy.  When he finally did find what he was looking for, he dialed Spike.  He made arrangements to meet his partner at Julia's apartment as he stepped off the street and onto the curb.  He still appreciated Spike's lack of inquisitiveness, but he didn't think more a bout it.  A jerk of a thumb indicated what he was looking to buy from the roadside seller and a flick of his wrist snapped the phone into his jacket.  Vicious had no appreciation for the beauty of crimson roses, except for the passing recognition of their color; like the dark blood that comes straight from the heart.  He appreciated them for their utility.  

Compliments on his choice fell on deaf ears.  With movements comprised of purpose and deathly grace, Vicious strode down the street to hire a cab.  He wasn't entirely certain where he'd left his car, thanks to the foolishness of the afternoon.  It was hardly important.  A cab could get him where he was going and he could, at least, rely on Julia to know where it was, considering that she'd need it to pick up hers when the sun made an appearance.  Utility was a good thing.  Knowing what people needed was even better.  Knowing the relative utility of a person, including oneself, was a matter of survival.  

He had the cab drop him off short of Julia's apartment, preferring not to draw attention to his arrival.  He took the stairs with silent efficiency.  He didn't bother to knock, only slipped his copy of the key through the lock and cued her combination.  When the deadbolt slipped, he let himself in.

They were sitting on the floor by the television, a stack of playing cards divided between them.  Julia stood up when he walked in, murmuring something about taking his jacket as if he was a formal guest.  Spike dropped his hand of cards and stood up to greet him as well.  Vicious looked between them and wondered if he had been so close for so long that he had never noticed anything growing between them.

"Still in good shape?"  Spike asked bluntly, smirk almost convincing.

"Thanks for watching over her," Vicious commented emotionlessly, ignoring the question and the aches it reminded him of.  The hand holding the huge bouquet of roses lifted, and with hands only hesitant enough for either Spike or Vicious to notice, Julia began to reach for them instead of his jacket.  At the last instant, though, she realized their course wasn't meant for her.  "They aren't for you," Vicious rasped for Spike's benefit, ice creeping into his tone.

            Spike was shocked when the dozen red roses found their crimson heads beneath his nose.  Hands used to breaking bones and pulling triggers weren't as adept at handling roses, but he took hold of them anyway.  "Late tomorrow night, there's some work at the cathedral in the old part of our territory and I can't be trusted to do it the way they'd like."

            "Ah," Spike's smirk became instantly genuine.  "So they weren't nearly as upset as you thought.  That's a relief."

            Vicious replied with a small pain-laced shrug.  "I think they are, but I wouldn't worry about them if I was you.  You're still in their good graces.  If nothing else, you're more useful than I am."

            "For what that's worth," Spike snorted, looking over the decadent bouquet with an appraising eye.  "What do they want me to take?  A missile launcher?"

            From Vicious' side, Julia observed the roses coolly.  "You'll look like you're going to a wedding or a funeral.  Dress the part, if you have the clothes, Spiegel."

            The barest thinning of his lips was hardly a smile, but it was the closest thing Vicious had.  "I'll tell you what they told me about the hit tomorrow, Spike.  I left my cab with instructions to wait for you, so you should go."

            Another hesitation gripped the room for a split second.  Neither Spike nor Julia looked at each other, but their lack of movement spoke volumes to Vicious' growing suspicions.  Recovering quickly, Spike gave them a vaguely jaunty salute with his free hand.  "I'll see you tomorrow."  He gave Vicious a wink and waggled the roses, "And I'll be satisfied knowing that one cabbie on this god awful planet thinks Vicious and I are an item.  If he's syndicate, I can't wait to hear the rumors."

            Julia greeted Spike's playful remark with an exasperated look.  "Get out, Spike."

            The door was hardly closed before she felt Vicious' cool fingers slipping around her bare arm.  She closed her eyes for a moment as he turned her around, trying to push thoughts of Spike away even though she could hear his feet on the stairs.  When she opened them again, his eyes were locked on her face.

            "Did…" she searched for the proper words and emotions.  "Did they hurt you?"

            He searched her face for meaning, but as unused to emotion as he was, he read nothing there.  Slowly, his hand departed her arm to find her face.  Her face was soft even if the expression her features had drawn into wasn't one he understood.  "There are better ways of learning than by asking questions."

            Her long exhalation informed them both that she'd been holding her breath as his fingers stole over her lovely features.  Blue eyes met a pair the color of iron, but there was no communication between them.  Her hands moved like his, independent of gaze.  They moved together, thumbs hooking into his lapels, as they pushed back on the jacket, taking it off his shoulders.

            She saw a sudden hardness in his eyes as he took his hands from her and angled his arms back to allow the jacket to slide down into her grip.  The look was one of the few things familiar to his behavior.  She took the jacket away, draped it over a chair and let her hands return to his collar.  Her hands knew the efficient knot he always kept his tie in and if they knew comfort in the untying it was only due to the familiarity in the motion.  The tension saturating the apartment was intensely unsettling.

            The proximity of her hands to his throat was more interesting when he considered the increased odds currently against him.  She did not know that she stood to gain more if she had the strength to strangle him then and there.  It was an intoxicating feeling, knowing a secret like that.  

            His tie soon joined his jacket and when her nimble fingers were busy on the buttons of his vest, he resumed staring at her face.  Julia was beautiful.  There had been a time he had appreciated her beauty for more than just the proof it offered his prowess.  A period of time whose borders were unknown to him and didn't seem important anymore.

            As her hands came up again to work the buttons on his shirt, he undid his belt and slid it into his.  It was the most opportune time for her to kill him, but it was not in his best interests to kill her.  Besides, she was his and he did not ruin the useful things he owned.

            Her hands were warmer than he remembered, but his skin was colder than she recalled.  She slid them under his shirt, gliding along cool muscle to remove the cloth.  The hard looked returned when she arrived at his shoulder joints.  They were warm, flushed with blood.  "Dislocated?"

            He watched her lips form the words, but was uninterested in what they had to say.  "It won't take long before I have my edge back."

            He didn't wait for her reply, instead slid arms around her, proving the injury didn't affect him more than causing him discomfort.  Even if she didn't welcome his advance, she did not resist.  Familiar as she in the apartment, he guided her back to her small bedroom, lowering his head to hers as they went.

            But when their lips met, she had little passion to give him and though he hadn't known it, it was her emotion he had craved.

His kisses became an angry swirl of tongue and biting teeth, which she answered with little reaction.  He pushed her onto the bed, fell with her, one hand on her shoulder the other playing angel's advocate, trailing gently across her cheek and jaw.  Her lips gave little resistance and her tongue merely followed his.  Her kisses weren't the same... they had lost their kick.  Were her lips always that soft?  Where was the gunpowder of weeks ago?

            Frustrated, he pulled his head back, leaving them both gasping slightly for air.  The hand that caressed her cheek took the path of her jaw down to her throat.  He felt the hard pulse under her skin and sneered.  It wasn't the heart rate of the woman who had flew at him in a passionate frenzy only a month ago.  Instinct fed him her fear.

            "You wouldn't have anything to fear," his lips whispered against her forehead, "if you hadn't done anything wrong."

            _You wouldn't have anything to be angry about_, she mouthed silently against his larynx, _if you thought of us as people._  

            He pulled away from her in annoyance, sliding his legs over the bed to undress.  She was happy to let him go.  Undressed but uninterested in continuing any physical conversation, they slipped beneath the comforter and sheets.  It didn't take long for Julia to fall asleep, she wanted nothing so much as to dream of somebody else.  Vicious, though, had no peace of mind and he didn't understand it.

            It hurt his shoulders, but he leaned back on his hands in the bed, thinking.  Instincts were far more important to him than emotions, and he was certain there was an external reason for his lack of comfort that had nothing to do with the warm body sleeping next to his.  

            If Spike had known what Vicious was thinking, he might have said something from the fire escape, but he didn't.  And even if he did, he wouldn't have been able to articulate for Vicious what it meant to feel complicated emotions.  Spike was just as new to betraying his friends as his partner: he'd soon learn that Vicious was better at it.


	4. Omake: Hide from Time

[Disclaimer: Cowboy Bebop was created by, and is copyrighted by Yadate Hajime in association with the legal entities Sunrise and Bandai. The characters are used without permission but no material profit of any kind is being made from the following work. Sunrise and Bandai reserve all rights to Cowboy Bebop material, but all of the situations unique to this work of fan fiction are property of the writer.  Especially, since my subconscious was the only thing that had _anything_ to do with this one!]

[Note:  I was inspired to finish the fic by a short dream I had last night.  It is very odd and might be hard to understand.  I don't quite get it, either.  I'm not sure if there's boy love in here or not.  I'm not inclined to think so, but after I started writing it out I could see some undertones.  I think Spike and Vicious are about twenty-two in this, possibly younger.  Enjoy the extreme ooc-ness.]

* * *

Omake: Hide from Time

The walls were a supernatural shroud in the dim light of blue neon, devoid of the cigarette smoke the sun would point out.  His nose was dripping when he awoke from the chaos of his crumpled white sheets in the gray hours of the morning.  The power was out again in the apartment building, but he would have little trouble finding the tissues on windowsill.  If they'd been there.  The vaguest impression of a question concerning whether or not Spike had them wasn't really a thought in his foggy mind.  Everything seemed unnatural.  Unreal.

The feel of another drop, cooled by the air on its descent, touched his arm and then his hand.  He wiped at his nose reflexively, feeling the moisture spread across his face and arm.  There was a change in the impression of blue on white.  The soft blue light filtering through the stiff blinds did not reflect off his arm where he had rubbed it across his face.  That area was no longer pale blue, but black.

            Another drop hit his hand, a circle of black on blue-struck skin.  A whisper of impact showed him a spreading circle on the fitted sheet covering the stiff mattress beneath him.  Perhaps he did not indeed have a running nose, but he was too confused and hazy to make the leap of comprehension a normal person would make.  He needed to make the flow stop, but there were no tissues on the windowsill.

            With a sort of vague fascination, he felt his muscles pulling under his skin as he swung his legs to the edge of the bed.  There was no feeling of urgency, just simple wonder when the tangled sheets followed his legs off the bed.  Warm feet met the uneven hardwood floor.  The tactile sensation was no less interesting.  When he stood uncertainly, the sheets drifted down his legs, freeing him.  

            He did not see the drops hitting the floor so much as he felt them.  It was like feeling the floor feel them, but when he took a few unsteady steps forward, he did not feel the floor feeling them.  He did not feel the moisture running down his chin, neck or chest, but his mouth tasted of copper.  When his young friend entered the room he did not notice.  

            For a moment, everything blurred, and he didn't know at all what was going on in the dimly blue-lit room of white walls, furniture, and bedding with the impression of an orange-grained floor.  There was somebody suddenly supporting him with warm hands.  "Come on," the apparition before him was familiar as was its voice.  

            There was movement.  They were going somewhere.  Then there was a name on his blood red lips.  "Spike."

            The damp hand towel wiping at Vicious' face was not in Vicious' hands.  He was somewhere else where everything was a little more white, a little less blue, with tiny square tiles under his feet and a claw-foot bath tub behind him.  The mirror before him doubled as the door to a medicine cabinet.  In the mirror he made out a blurry impression of another pale shape, wearing red on the lower half of its face.  He didn't know what to make of it.

            "You need to stop taking those drugs," the Spike apparition was saying.  "You really need to stop."

            Vicious didn't know how to interpret the sounds into words.  He worked his jaw, opening and shutting his mouth in interest as the reflection's red shape stretched and contracted.  He wasn't in any pain, but the red still flowing out his nose felt distinctly cool as it continued to flow down his face, copper in all but color.

            "Did I take drugs?"  Now his own mouth was making noises he didn't understand.  "Did they do this?"

            Fear tasted like copper.  "Yes."  And copper was the flavor of Spike's words.

            "I shouldn't take them."  

            "No, you shouldn't."

            The slightly rough texture of the damp hand towel became the more immediately abrasive smoothness of a crumpled handful of dry tissues.  "Why did I?"

            "I don't know."  The impression of Spike was warm and worried.  Spike's body felt warm, while his body felt temperature-less.  

            "Spike."  He didn't know how he was making the sounds or how his friend understood them, but he sensed a plaintive note in what he was speaking.  "I don't feel anything."

            He felt Spike's hair feeling itself brush against temperature-less skin.  "I know… I know."  Copper also tasted like helplessness.

            Vicious could feel Spike feeling terrible sadness as he felt muscles moving under Spike's hands.  "I don't feel anything."  He felt the air feeling the sensation his lips made as they smiled at a joke he never heard.  "I don't feel anything."

            He tasted copper as Spike's voice vibrated the air.  "You're scaring me."  He had the vaguest vague impression that his friend wanted to take him to another white place; a sterile white place where people wore white clothes and white paper rectangle's over their mouths, but couldn't.  They had to stay there.

            "I don't feel anything, Spike," he repeated, fascinated now with the feel of the sounds slipping over his tongue and past his lips.  Words tasted like foreshadowing.  "I can feel your being scared."

            Slowly, he noticed the impression of something inside his body, feeling him.  It felt itself feeling like copper and it felt the way his organ walls curved around it, compressing it suddenly very tight.  

            Vicious saw the white blur of his torso as it arced out of Spike's warm grip and onto the tiny tiles squares that made the floor.  Copper flooded from him, spreading over the white floor in a red pool, running along the gray channels between the tiny tiles.  The floor felt the splash of thin liquid.  It had no feeling, but it tasted of copper.

            But Spike, Spike saw nothing on the white tiles but Vicious.


End file.
